


unum, duo, tres

by flappergirlsfolly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Military, Miscarriage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2314517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flappergirlsfolly/pseuds/flappergirlsfolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their love occasionally painted a rom-com picture over the pain, which, in the end, was enough.</p>
<p>Or the three times Ygritte shocked Starks into silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unum, duo, tres

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy- let me know what you think! Xx

i.

 

“This spot taken?”

Jon binks as she the girl shimmies herself over the back of the bus seat beside him and almost unfurls her impossibly long legs all over him.

“I’m waiting for a friend.” He tells her.

“Hello.” She greets, waving.

“I don’t even know you!”

“M’Ygritte.” He mouths wordlessly for a long moment, as she smiles absently.

“You gonna talk or just make weird-ass noises?”

“…what?”

“What’s your name?” she asks, seizing his dog tags and almost choking his speechless throat as she drags him toward her. “Jon Snow. You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

Silence reigns for a moment.

“You’re cute. We should have sex.”

 

ii.

 

Sansa stares.

Rickon, who had moulded himself to her leg, looks up at the woman with interest, uncomprehending of what she just said.

“I- Can you… _what?_ ”

The woman rolls her eyes and repeats the message clearly.

“I am looking for Jon Snow. Is he here?”

Behind her, Theon (why is he always walking past at the worst moment?) lets out a low and gleeful wolf whistle, and it’s only Sansa’s stone-like shock that stops her slapping the awful grin from his face.

“N-no. Are you his…” she looks the woman from head to toe, “… _acquaintance?_ ”

She snorts.

“I hope he don’t do this to all his… _acquaintances._ ”

She feels a wave of dizziness wash over her, and she extends her finger, indicating a moment’s rest as she braces herself on the doorframe. She wasn’t suggesting that Jon had… Oh gods, she was.

“Jon is living independently, now.” She squeaks.

“Your stepma booted him out because he was batty?” she asks, and for the first time Sansa looks away from that bulbous pregnant stomach and sees the dog tags around the woman’s neck.

“N-no he… left.” She mutters, head spinning. “He’s in the city now- I’ll get you his address- Rickon _get off_.”

She runs to the leather contact books and scribbles it on a piece of paper ( _I’m going to be an Aunty!_ She thinks in the back of her mind), and returns in time to throw herself between her father and the closed front door.

“Don’t go out there!” she screeches.

Ned Stark looks at her with a quirked brow.

“You’re not prepared for-“

“You gonna bitch about me all day or give me that address?” the nutty ginger woman asks, opening the door. Sansa’s father looks at her, wordlessly.

She smiles, in her maternity micromini and rugby jumper, and raises a hand in a little wave.

“I’m Ygritte. Looking for Jon Snow?”

Ned is silent for a long moment.

“Why?” he asks, at last, and Sansa already feels the need to bury herself in her sock drawer because she doesn’t want to hear this sentence.

“I’d like to admit defeat to a difference of opinion on the values of contraception.” Ygritte informs them, with an easy smile.

 

iii.

 

“I want this one.”

Jon tears his eyes away from the crashing waves, visible over the crest of the hill to look at his girlfriend. The slender body that she had worked so hard to gain back after the loss of their son is curled over on the ground as she kneels before a shop window. Her bright hair and luminous sundress (that clash but somehow make her the most beautiful woman in the world, to Jon) stand out against the whitewashed stone wall behind her, and he is distracted before he realises what she is pointing at.

“A engagement ring?” he yelps.

“Actually, this one. The turquoise suits me better.”

He makes a splendid sort of choking noise. “An eng- guh- a-“

“Slow down and think about your words.” She tells him, not looking up from the window.

“Aren’t you meant to wait for me to ask you?” he croaks out at last.

“You were taking too long and I was bored, so now I’m telling you that’s we’re getting married.”

He makes the magnificent noise again, and she glances up with eyes like an animal about to be rear ended by a truck.

“If you tell me I’m on the wrong wave, I’ll tie you up with your own organs and beat you senseless.” He looks at her, where she is crouched on the ground, and his face finally breaks into a smile.

“At least you got down on one knee.” He mutters, before tugging his fiancée into the jeweler to buy an engagement ring.


End file.
